Emergency Rooms

I do not like emergency rooms.  I was in one Sunday night, for intense pain that turned out to be and intestinal wall infection, swollen lymph nodes, and an inflamed colon.  (By the way, two of my grandparents died from colon problems. Good to know).

Anyway, I got there, and the first thing they did was stick an IV in me.  Ick.  That was probably the most painful thing of all.  Emergency rooms are cold, white, and uncomfortable.  Lots of scary-looking appliances laying around.  Some people are claustrophobic, I have a weird fear of being tied to things.  Being attached to the IV thing was not good for me.  They then took me to a green room with other scary machines.  The smiling nurse with a name tag  that said "Deb" on it said "Alright, drop your pants to your knees."  Just like it was the most normal thing in the world.  I looked at her and said "Pardon?" "Just drop your pants, sweetheart." 

Sweetheart.  Humph.  Yeah, right.  I did what she said, laid on the table, and she placed a white cloth on me.  I immediately felt like I was getting an autopsy.  It is not a good feeling.  I focused on the sign above my head which had two little green men on it.  One had its mouth open very very wide, and the other had its mouth shut and its cheeks puffed out.  I observed them for a few moments.  Then I heard Deb in the background. "You'll have to hold your breath for about 20 seconds.  It is very important."  I panicked, already being a little thrown off from the pain.  I had several practice rounds, then she said, "Here is the real thing".   My bed went up about four feet, then started to go through a large tube, my feet first.  A bunch of machinery started going, and making lots of noise, and I went through the tunnel.  I heard an electronic voice say, "Breathe" then "Hold your breath". 

I did so accordingly.  The little green men on the sign lit up respectively. 

I was told this was a CAT scan, then the pain was so bad that I got wheeled back to my scary white cold room.

The doctor was gone for about an hour, while I sat in absolute boredom.  When he got back, he said, (He was Nigerian, so he couldn't speak English terribly well) "You do not have to go to Duluth, or have surgery, we think it is your colon and such, or it might be muusle spasms."  Yes, I know I spelled muscle wrong, but I spelled it how he pronounced it.  ( :  Moosles, huh? 

Thunderstorms

Yesterday, I decided that, because it was pouring and thundering, I would go for a walk.  So, I donned my medieval cape and began my quest down the drive.  I got to my destination, the creek, and stood on the bank, watching it swell, and wondering, "If I fall in, will I automatically drown, or will someone fish me out? And if so, who?  There's no one around for miles.  And if there is, it's weekend vacationing old people.  Not exactly an example of romanticism, whatever that is." 

So I wondered.  Then I began to sing.  Just because.   Then it really began to rain.  Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I had a burst of energy that drew me from my clouded morbidness.  I ran around, laughing and running as fast as I could.  It was a moment of insanity that I have not told anyone about until now.  But, hey, it was fun.  My cape was flying behind me, the flower in my hair was getting soaked, and I was happier than ever.  I almost slipped on the creek bank, so my moment of romantic morbidness almost came true.  

Anyway, I think I am the only one in my family that has an infatuation with thunderstorms.  My mom doesn't really care, my dad doesn't like them, and all the childrens are afraid of them.  Usually, if there is a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, my parents have at least three children in bed with them.  They draw the line at the ten and twelve year olds.  ( :  It's a little sad all the constant screaming and crying that happens at our house during thunderstorms, it's louder than the thunder. 

It generally ends up like this:  Dad in his recliner, Mom and 3 children in her bed,  2 older children screaming and crying and clinging to each other, me in my bed all by my lonesome, trying to sleep above the children's screaming (pillow over the ears works great). 

That Was Awkward.

My Dreams

To impact people unbelievably for Christ
To be the best I can possibly be for Him
To be involved in Youth Ministry
To love people enough to be Jesus with skin on to them
To return to New Orleans someday
To own a pickup truck that's jacked up above the wheels with double exhaust
To be a wife and mom 
To be a florist
To make my life count
To serve Jesus ultimately
To be completely holy and pure as unto Jesus
To have a ministry
To make a long-term missions trip to Crisis Response in New Orleans, LA
To bless people
To be a sunshine and a forever optimist
To always see outside myself 
To always remain a farm girl
To live each day as if it is my last, and, 
To have a love for Christ that encompasses all areas in my life so that when people see me, they see Jesus; to have a love for Christ that is so deep that I am able, through Him, to love everyone, even my enemies, as He has loved me; to grow my passion for people until it just comes out in anything and everything I do, to glorify Him; for every part of me to thirst and long for Jesus; to see myself and anything I do and ever will to as dirty rags compared to Jesus and knowing Him; to stay strong to all my convictions and to not cave under peer pressure but to be a light in the world and a sunshine for Jesus; yet to see all of this as dirty rags compared to Jesus.  

My Summer Projects

This summer, I have many projects lined up. I have recently learned that I will not be able to work at Grindstone Lake Bible Camp, and am extremely heartbroken about that fact.

But still, I have decided that this summer, I shall continue on two projects that I started a while back. One of them is writing my own language. I have decided to call it Nodlinoorian. It is from the ancient city Nodlinoor, obviously. This city has recently let out a plea to me, for they are not united, because years ago, they all were cast under the spell of an ancient war lord, named Hurnediis. (Pronounced Hernade-ies) This caused them to be divided, each group speaking a different language, and are still under the rule of Hurnediis to this day.(You see, he has drunk from the fount of Eternal Youth and Beauty, and has been around the age of 23 and a half for 3,000 years.) The only way they can possibly rebel and free themselves is if they unite under one tongue and join forces to fight the evil war lord. (Yes, I just came up with that now).So, I am writing a language for them. Once it is finished, I am leaving for Nodlinoor to help fight their battle against Hurnediis.

The other project is that I am writing a story. Basic story line:

Hannah Malchovich, spy and archaeologist, finds an undiscovered cave in the mountains. Or so she thinks. She brings her two closest friends up to the cave, and they explore the cave. They find that it is covered in writing in a nonexistent language, and embark on a dangerous journey to find the truth when they find mass burial mounds and other horrific things. Not to mention that the ground shifts whenever they touch a certain spot on the wall. But little do they know that an old man, who knows the truth, is watching them the whole time, with dangerous intent for whoever finds his secret.

New Orleans 2011

Yeah, I've been kind of avoiding this post, because, you see, there are a million things I want to say, but I am not too sure which ones to say.  Because, if I write the right ones, my ratings might go up too high and I would be put on Oprah or something, and that is not what I deem desirable, and if I write the wrong ones, I'll look stupid, among other things.  Never mind.
 Anyhoo, this spring a group of youth from my area went to New Orleans with the intention of painting houses and changing OTHER peoples lives.  Uh huh.  Sure.  We spent 22 hours in a smelly van full of teenagers, 14 girls and 14 guys.  Sound like fun?  It was incredible!  Before we left, our leaders kept talking about how we would bond a ton and other such stuff.  I thought, I think I already know all I ever want to know about these people, I'll stick with my close friends, not really talk to anyone else, and I'll be fine.  Yep.  Not gonna happen.  It turns out, you don't exactly get to choose who you sit by, and 15 passenger vans are extremely crowded, so you may very well end up like I did more than once: smashed between a wall and a guy you don't know very well.  I guarantee you, that was a brotherly bonding moment!
One of the first days there, a pastor from the Church we were staying at asked us what our expectations for this trip were.  I thought about it, and here is what I came up with.  No kidding, this is what I expected.  I expected:
1. For New Orleans to be basically a slightly larger Sandstone with a house that needed work here and there.
2. For the houses to still have water in them. (My logic: If the people left before the water got there, and never came back, and no one opened the doors or the windows, how was the water to escape?)
3. Not to have any fun whatsoever.
4. Not to be changed all that much.
5. For the people I was with, particularly the older kids, to be mean to me and stick up their noses at me like last summer (This did not happen, it must have something to do with being in a crammed 15 passenger van).
6. Not to hang out with the people I did.
7. Not to bond terribly much with people.
8. To be bored on the car ride.
9. To sleep on a hard floor.
10. For it to be about 50 degrees.(Ha! Not! 80 in the shade!!!)
11. Not to cry for the people (and I did, sadly).
12. Not to make new friends.
13. For the people there to hate us.
So there you have it!  And you know what, none of these expectations were true!  It was incredible!

I think another big thing I learned, besides all those mentioned above, was that I never knew how much I complained.  Because really, what in the world do I have to complain about?  I have a warm house, food, and a family that loves me, not to mention amazing friends. I have learned to say that that is all I need.
I also was told quite often by my friends that I am "sheltered" "stupid to the world" "uncorrupted" "too innocent" and "need to get out of home school" not to mention "will be shell-shocked in college"  "will never find a husband (like I need to find one)" and "should be shown more of the world".   Not sure how to take that.  Oh, well.  I'm just having fun laughing my hide off at them because of what they think is important.  LOL.

We painted and drywalled for 5 days, and then spent 22 more hours in vans.  Don't get me wrong, it was amazing!  All said, I learned a ton and will never be the same, in ways that I cannot express on paper. Thank you to all of those who supported me on this trip, both in funds and in prayer.

John Deere Green

 My new favorite song!  It's adorable!  Link to the video on the bottom of the post...I love this song.

They were farm kids way down in Dixie
They met in high school in the sixties
Everyone knew it was love from the start
One July in the midnight hour
He climed the water tower
Stood on the rail and painted a 10ft heart
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said that he should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

They settled down on 80 acres
Raising sweet corn,kids and tomaters
They went together like a hand and a glove
On a clear day from their front yard
If you look and know what to llok for
Off to the east you can still read his words of love
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said the boy should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

Now more then once the town has dicovered
Painting over it ain't no use
There ain't no paint in the world that'll cover it
The heart keeps showing through
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said that the fool should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

Ahh,paint it green boy
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said the boy should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

John Deere green
They were farm kids way down in Dixie
They met in high school in the sixties
Everyone knew it was love from the start
One July in the midnight hour
He climed the water tower
Stood on the rail and painted a 10ft heart
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said that he should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

They settled down on 80 acres
Raising sweet corn,kids and tomaters
They went together like a hand and a glove
On a clear day from their front yard
If you look and know what to llok for
Off to the east you can still read his words of love
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said the boy should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

Now more then once the town has dicovered
Painting over it ain't no use
There ain't no paint in the world that'll cover it
The heart keeps showing through
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said that the fool should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

Ahh,paint it green boy
In John Deere green

On a hot summer night
He wrote Billy Bob loves Charlene
In letters 3 foot high
And the whole town said the boy should have used red
But it looked good to Charlene
In John Deere green

John Deere green
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gSJtYae8bQ

You see, I am a total romantic, and I think the greatest vehicle ever made is a tie between the John Deere Tractor and the Huge Pickup Truck.  I am dead sure that my first car will be the biggest pickup I can find, with oversized tires, two exhaust pipes up above the cab, etc.  My only disappointment with that dream is that, legally, I have to have a muffler.  Shoot. 
I have also been informed that I have to choose between exhaust pipes and no muffler.  They don't coincide.
Rats.  Which reminds me of another song.

Pickup Man
Well I got my first truck, when I was three,
Drove a hundred thousand miles on my knees
Hauled marbles and rocks, and thought twice before
I hauled a Barbie Doll bed for the girl next door
She tried to pay me with a kiss I began to understand,
There's just something women like about a PickUp Man

When I turned sixteen, I saved a few hundred bucks
My first car was a Pickup Truck
I was cruisin' the town and the first girl I seen
Was Bobbie Jo Gentry the homecoming queen
She flagged me down and climbed up in the cab, and said
"I never knew you were a Pickup Man!"

You can set my truck on fire, and roll it down a hill
But I still wouldn't trade it for a Coupe DeVille
I've got an eight foot bed that never has to be made
You know if it weren't for trucks we wouldn't have tailgates
I met all my wives in traffic jams,
There's just something women like about a Pickup Man

Most Friday nights, I can be found
In the bed of my truck on an old chaise lounge
Backed into my spot at the drive-in show
You know a cargo light gives off a romantic glow
I never have to wait in line at the popcorn stand,
'Cause there's just something women like about a pickup Man

You can set my truck on fire, and roll it down a hill
But I still wouldn't trade it for a Coupe DeVille
I've got an eight foot bed that never has to be made
You know if it weren't for trucks we wouldn't have tailgates
I met all my wives in traffic jams,
There's just something women like about a Pickup Man

A bucket of rust, or a brand new machine
Once around the block and you'll know what I mean

You can set my truck on fire, and roll it down a hill
And I still wouldn't trade it for a Coupe DeVille
I've got an eight foot bed that never has to be made
You know if it weren't for trucks we wouldn't have tailgates
I met all my wives in traffic jams,
There's just something women like about a Pickup Man

Yeah, there's something women like about a Pickup Man.

Owww, Drive that pickup son...
That's right..

Amen!
http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=pickup+man&aq=f

The Great Cootie War

DISCLAIMER: The names of the people in this story have been removed to protect the very guilty.
Yes, I remember the great cootie war.  Who doesn't?  It was the solace of my life, the entire meaning thereof, until I turned 13.  Then I had a horrible realization that, maybe, just maybe, cooties DON'T ACTUALLY EXIST.  Imagine that!  But before that is where the real story lies.
You see, I was an intense captain of the girl's team in the Cootie War.  Our family went to a Church almost totally consumed by the male species, and I was one of the few girls there, so I figured that it was my job to exterminate the congregation.  I had two other ladies with me, one of which was the "Let's kill 'em, who cares if we get in trouble" type, and one was of the "No, no, we might get spanked" type.  I was in between, though I more often tended to be of the troublemaker type. 
We would wait and wait for Church to end each Sunday so that we could run outside.  The infested race always beat us to the playground, so the whole setup (swings, slides, ladders, fort, etc.) belonged to them.  We got the corner by the gate.  They would stand in the fort and mock us cruelly,  while we would stand on the ground and mock them cruelly.  It was quite funny to watch. 
One of the worst (but of course the most fun) endeavors we attempted was when the worst troublemaker of our group happened to find a ladder, a bucket, and water.  Recipe for disaster.  It went something like this:
1. Coax a boy to stand underneath the rain gutter.
2. Stand ladder against wall while distracting male specimen.
3. Fill bucket with water and ice.
4. Keep boy distracted.
5. Crawl up ladder.
6. Dump water down gutter on boy's head.
7. Run.
8. Get spanked and go home.
9. Revel in mission accomplished and sore bottoms.
Do you see now how amazing my life was from age 3-12?  I was terrible, and it's probably best that I was homeschooled.